


In Between

by edibleflowers



Category: Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-13 23:52:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edibleflowers/pseuds/edibleflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the battle, before the war: a moment's rest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Between

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after the events of _The Two Towers_ , specifically immediately following the battle at Helm's Deep. It's probably not one hundred percent accurate, but I attempted to fit it to the events of both the movie and the book as closely as possible. This is also my attempt to (at least slightly) emulate the style of writing in the books. And no, I don't really think Legolas and Aragorn were shagging; I know Tolkien saw elves as basically sexless and Aragorn was devoted to Arwen (which, considering the above, poor guy...). This is really just because Orlando Bloom and Viggo Mortensen had such charisma in the movies.
> 
> Originally posted on March 8, 2004, on my Livejournal.

The battle had gained them a brief amount of time, enough to tend to the worst of the wounds, to account for the dead, and to bring the women and children back up from the caverns beneath the mountain. They still had to move on to Isengard and Edoras, but with the orc army in rout, they could afford the time to rest and heal that the fighters so desperately needed.

Aragorn moved among the men, his unflagging spirits inspiration as he bound wounds, offered water to slake thirst, murmured words of reassurance. Legolas had known of his friend's kingly qualities, but watching him so easy with men who were not even his own people, he could not but smile anew. By some miracle, he and Gimli had escaped grievous wounding during the battle of Helm's Deep, and though Gimli grumbled, he too helped where he could, occasionally muttering things under his breath about how such activities were decidedly beneath a dwarf's dignity.

As night drew to a close, the remaining strong began to throw Uruk-hai carcasses into a pile at the foot of the Deeping wall, there to be burned. Finally, though, Aragorn called a halt to the seemingly endless work, and the Rohan fighters and Rohirrim drew back into the keep to find their rest.

Legolas left Gimli devouring a paltry meal in the keep's great hall, worried when Aragorn still had not shown his face. It was not hard to figure out where his friend would be, and he climbed the stairs lightly, as if he had not spent all night fighting and all day tending to wounded, making his way up narrow-cut, winding steps to the high Hornburg.

Aragorn did not turn from his watchful gaze when Legolas entered the tower room, but he chuckled a little. "You've found me."

"Even you cannot stand guard in this condition," Legolas replied, in no mood to be anything but blunt. "You're hurt too, and you've not eaten nor drunk since before the attack began."

When Aragorn did not answer, Legolas stepped forward, letting his bloodstained and stiff hands rest on the same ledge where Aragorn's lay. A single torch glowed behind them, its light picking out the glimmer of the pendant that lay on Aragorn's breast, and Legolas guessed the bearing of his thoughts.

"She has gone to Valinor," he murmured.

Aragorn nodded, still silent. After a moment, he turned, and Legolas let his arms come up around his friend's body, holding him for just a moment. Aragorn shook in his arms; then he stepped away.

"I will rest," he said. His hand came up, twining fingers in a lock of Legolas' hair, warm behind his ear. "You should, as well, my friend."

Legolas smiled, tired but with some renewed energy. "I will."

They passed a sentry heading up on their way down to the keep proper, a woman who smiled and said nothing, merely bowed her head in respect in passing. When Legolas would have turned aside into the great hall, to seek sustenance for Aragorn before sleep, Aragorn shook his head, drawing his friend on through the crowded halls.

As befit his status, he had been given a room of his own, and though it seemed wasteful with the crowding of Rohan's people in the keep, Aragorn was now glad of it. He had stowed lembas-bread and water in his bags, and he withdrew some now, as Legolas closed the door behind them, taking the simple fare to a table by the window -- an arrow-slit cut into the deep rock of the wall -- to eat. The room itself was little more than a cell, not meant for lengthy habitation, but it was private and had a bed, and at the moment, that was all Aragorn truly desired.

He offered to share his provisions with Legolas, but the woodland elf shook his head, declaiming quietly that he'd already eaten earlier, with Gimli. Used to spare meals and eating on the run, Aragorn ate little; the waybread, elf-made, was wonderfully restorative, and he knew that Legolas had been right in keeping him from his useless mind-wandering. He took a last swallow of water and capped the skin.

Legolas was there, reaching for the skin to return it to the travel-pack, but Aragorn stood, shaking his head and faintly smiling, and left the skin where it lay. He knew that he did not even have to ask; he and Legolas had been on so many journeys together that the smile in Legolas' eyes was question and answer combined.

"Sleep first," Legolas said, his voice soft, and Aragorn somewhat regretfully inclined his head. Now that he had stopped to let himself breathe, he could feel the ache deep in his bones, the weariness of battle that had gone on for far too long and the steady work of a full day dragging at him. With an acquiescing sigh, he moved to the bed, sprawling on it and feeling the give of straw ticking and ropes beneath. Sturdy, he thought to himself with the faintest smile.

He had not even the energy to remove his boots, though he had taken off his cloak and draped it over the chair. Legolas moved to the bed's other side, shoulders hunched forward as he carefully unlaced his own boots, and then they were both laying down, Aragorn behind Legolas, one strong arm draped over his friend's waist. There was comfort here, both physical and deeper, somehow; trust, hard-won and true, never faltering. Aragorn brushed back long straight locks of golden hair, faint with the scent of green life, and slept.

* * *

Aragorn woke first, roused to instant wakefulness by an early-morning glow that brightened the tiny room. He found that Legolas had turned in the night -- or perhaps had woken, he amended after a moment, for both their cloaks were now spread over them against the dawn chill. The elf had nestled himself into Aragorn, soft breath warm on his neck, and, smiling, Aragorn brushed a gentle hand down the slightly rumpled mass of pale gold hair that fanned around Legolas' ears and over the pillow.

He lowered his mouth to the closest delicately-pointed ear, murmured in a soft voice, "Wake up, Legolas." For answer, Legolas made an indistinct but decidedly unhappy sound, and pressed himself closer to Aragorn.

"Will you not wake so easily, then? Or perhaps you wish to be persuaded." Aragorn noted the barest hint of a smile in the corner of Legolas' wide mouth, but the elf's breathing remained even, giving credence to the likelihood that he truly did slumber.

"Ai, Legolas," Aragorn murmured, fondness creeping into his tone, "how you do test me." His hands moved easily over the laces of Legolas' jerkin, and he slid the garment back, deft fingers pulling the belt free of its buckle, then working open the ties of his shirt. Aragorn let his hands slide beneath the open panels of fabric, skimming warm, smooth skin, and when his thumbs brushed taut nipples, Legolas gave a soft cry.

His eyes remained shut, though, and so Aragorn resumed the pleasant task of disrobing his friend. Legolas' breeches were simple to open, and then Aragorn drew back a moment, to better admire the beauty that lay, asleep and truly unaware, before him: Legolas was bare to the waist now, hair flowing loose over creamy skin, his erection springing proud from a nest of pale curls.

Aragorn noticed, dimly, that his breathing had gone shallow. He reached out, let a sword-calloused finger touch Legolas' stiff cock and trail up from thick base to blunt head. Legolas gave an evocative groan; his erection jerked, as a thing alive, and, stirred himself by the sight before him, Aragorn inhaled deeply. Then he moved, arranging himself between Legolas' legs, and, leaning forward, took the heavy shaft into his mouth.

The effect was galvanizing. Legolas' hips pushed upward, eagerly seeking the entrancing heat of Aragorn's mouth. Aragorn did not want to tease -- especially as he was all too aware of their limited time -- but neither could he resist drawing back, breathing for a long moment before gulping Legolas deep again.

This time, Legolas' cry was more coherent: "A-aragorn," he gasped, and Aragorn felt the elf's nimble fingers touch his head, sink into his hair. Ah, so Legolas was awake at last. He raised his head, letting the sleek weight fall free of his mouth, and licked his lips.

"At last," he smiled, his eyes warm, dark. "I was beginning to wonder if I'd have to wait all day."

"You're as impatient as ever," Legolas managed, though his voice was strangled; not a small wonder, since Aragorn continued stroking the length of his engorged erection with one hand, fingers lingering longingly on the rounded head at the apex of each movement.

"A tragic failing of mortals," Aragorn agreed, with a ready smile. "Perhaps, since you're awake now, you could tell me what I could do to render my apologies."

"I th-think," Legolas breathed shallowly, "that you know what I'd like."

Tempted as he was to tease, to draw it out -- for few things pleased him more than lengthening their pleasure with slow hands, to make Legolas wait until he could bear the waiting no more -- Aragorn felt his own need keenly, and he nodded, drawing up to his knees so that he could begin removing his own clothing. Legolas moved to assist him, his nimble fingers quick on buttons and laces, and soon the morning sunlight laid a bar of brightness over Aragorn's bare skin, dark and weathered from his years in the wilds. Though he was rough, raw against Legolas' fine, polished beauty, neither of them had ever voiced an expression of distaste.

With Aragorn laid bare, Legolas stood, skinning easily out of his leggings, and stepped around the bed to the table, finding Aragorn's travel bag. From it now he withdrew a small leather pouch, sealed with a wax stopper, and returned to the bed -- Aragorn's big hands clasping his waist and drawing him down, making them both laugh lowly as they fell together to the tumbled sheets. Legolas pressed the pouch into Aragorn's hand, leaning in at the same moment to brush his lips over Aragorn's. "We must be quick," he murmured, and Aragorn nodded regretfully.

His head spun a little when Legolas laid down on the bed again, flat on his stomach, skin gleaming in the morning sun. Aragorn took a deep breath as he warmed some of the liquid on his fingers; the smooth stuff was often used for relieving travel sores or stiff muscles, but it had more than one use, as they'd discovered in the past. Now he knelt forward, one thigh between Legolas', his mouth on the strong shoulderblades, as his fingers slipped between taut buttocks and found the heated center, slid deep, one and then another. Legolas arched and cried out beneath him, a moan of pleasure mixed with the faintest pain: it had been some time, for both of them.

Aragorn had to fight with himself not to move too fast; the sight of Legolas, the sounds he made, the musky scent of him, inflamed Aragorn's senses, as always, to an alarming degree, clouding his reason, driving rational thought out of his mind. He schooled himself to patience, working his fingers steadily back and forth, separating them deep in Legolas' body until Legolas rocked back against him. "Now, Aragorn," he urged, low-voiced and raw, and Aragorn gave up the last hope he had for containing his need.

His own erection was slick, already, liquid gleaming at the tip, and he slid his hand over it, spreading the stuff over himself to ease the passage as much as possible. "Please," he heard Legolas say, as if far away, through the fog of desire, and he could wait no longer; he pressed himself there, then in, sliding with one long thrust full into the grasping heat of Legolas' body.

He knew already that he wouldn't last long, not after their earlier play, but he did his best to draw out their pleasure; he wanted to feel Legolas first, to feel the elf rock beneath him, cry out his climax. The random thought hit him -- this might be the last time they ever did this -- and he closed his eyes, forcing it away, focusing his concentration on bearing into Legolas, over and over and over again.

It wasn't more than a couple of minutes, though Aragorn had lost track; it could have been a few seconds or forever that he'd been thrusting, that Legolas had been gasping and writhing, but when he reached a questing hand around Legolas' hip, below him, finding where his cock ground into the sheets, Legolas pushed forward and then back again, and his voice was throaty and hoarse as he called out his climax. Aragorn could take no more; his other hand bracing him, clenched in sheets, he gave in and put his head down, let himself go.

His head spun with the force of it, and he couldn't hold himself up anymore; he let himself fall, draped over Legolas' back, their bodies still joined most intimately. Burying his nose in Legolas' hair, he smelled the faintest suggestion of green, growing things, and he smiled, cherishing the moment.

"Aragorn," Legolas murmured, and he reached for one of Aragorn's hands, weaving their fingers together. Too spent to speak, Aragorn kissed Legolas' shoulder. They would move in a moment, but just for a moment longer they could enjoy this soft silence together.


End file.
